"Everything's bully but that bow tie," she declared, after a considering pause. "Just come right here and I'll fix it. Say, Dad, I envy you men. Was there ever a nicer looking suit for men than evening clothes? I'm--kind of proud of my Daddy, with his wide chest and good figure. And that white waistcoat. My, but you don't look as if you'd ever branded a calf in your life. It's only your dear handsome face gives you away, and--and the backs of your hands." Nan laughed as she retied the tie to her satisfaction, the fashion in which a girl loves to see a bow tied. The man submitted meekly, but with concern for her final remark. "But I scrubbed 'em both--sore," he declared anxiously. "I don't mean they're dirty, Daddy," the girl laughed. "Was there ever such a simple, simple soul? It's the wholesome mahogany tan which the wind and the sun have dyed them. Say, there, get a peek at yourself in that glass." She thrust him toward a wall mirror. "It's not girls only who need a mirror, when a man is good to look at, Daddy, is it? Honest? It doesn't make you hate yourself, nor feel foolish. I guess there's men folks who'd have you think that way, but if I know anything they'd hate to be without a mirror when they're fixing themselves for a party where there's to be some nice looking women, and where they're to be something better than just a 'stray' blown in." Bud laughed at the rapid flow of the girl's banter. But he had by no means forgotten his own concern. "But, say, Nan, you hain't got time for foolin' around. You surely hain't. It's haf after five, an' we're due at the City Hall seven, sharp. Y'see, you ain't like us fellers who don't need no fixin' to speak of. An' you're helpin' us to receive the folks----" Nan's delighted laugh rippled through the pleasant room. "Oh, my Daddy," she cried, with wide, accusing eyes, "you're the best laugh in a month." Then she held up one admonishing finger before her dancing eyes. "Now the truth. What was the minute you started to make yourself--pretty?" She sat herself upon a table before him with the evident purpose of enjoying to the full the delighted feelings of the moment. Bud eyed her steadily. He knew he was to be cornered. Nor would it be for the first time. The relation between these two was that of a delightful companionship in which the frequent measuring of wit held no inconsiderable place amidst a deep abiding affection. "Say--a touch of the north wind around, Nan, eh?" he smiled. "Never mind the north wind, Daddy," Nan laughed. "Just when? That's what I need to know now." The man's fingers sought his crisply curling hair. "No, no," cried Nan, in pretended alarm, "Guess you're going to undo an hour's work that way." Bud dropped his hand in real dismay. "Guess I plumb forgot. Wal, say, since you got to know, I'd say it must ha' bin right after din--I mean luncheon. You see, I'd----"